Finished . . . rested . . . home!

Finished . . . rested . . . home!

My first semester of grad school is finished! Woohoo, I am DONE! Final papers are written and turned in, portfolios are graded and final grades are entered, presentations are given and books are read, and I am now HOME in Iowa with my family. Oh, ilhamdulillah.

So life is good. I've gotten to see my adorable nephews, eat WAY too much yummy Christmas cooking, and sleep, sleep, sleep. That's the best part, actually.

Today I had coffee (well, hot chocolate) with my pastor here, and that was refreshing. He's a wise person, but beyond that he is simply kind and thoughtful, and he listens. So he listened to me today, gave me some good advice, and made me feel as though it's all going to be okay. :) As Lady Julian of Norwich said, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." After a wild and wonderful semester in Montana, I was glad for a quiet conversation in Iowa.

I'd forgotten how many people I know here. I went to Wal-Mart today (yes, Wal-Mart--honestly, it's almost the only place to shop here! At least, darn it, it's about the only place to get hair gel and contact solution--plah!) and ran into an old friend from high school who's just had her second child, and then I ran into an acquaintance from Dordt who knows some people that I know in Missoula, and then, of course, I still know half the people who work at Wal-Mart from MY days of working there . . . and then there's all the people I recognize as I walk down the street or through the mall--former profs, people from church, etc. It's good to be home; I've missed knowing every third person who passes by.

So I'm hoping to get some lesson planning done this break, as well as some writing, and some reading, too. I have about, oh, ten books that I've borrowed from various EVST friends that I'm going to try to read, starting with "Cadillac Desert" by Marc Reisner, a thus-far fascinating history of water in the American West. I'm starting with this one because I'm hoping it will help me to expand my water essay, which I'm excited to work on in the coming weeks.

Okay, I want comments from ya'll. :) So I'm going to give a prompt that I found on someone else's blog (and I think she found it somewhere else, too--let's pass it on!):

Make up a fake memory of us. That is, post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want - good or bad - but it has to be fake.

Hee!

Disco Fever!

Are we hot or what?!?

Heather, Catherine, Teresa, me, and Christa

Some Quality Reading

I just wanted to share a link to an excellent essay by David James Duncan that was in this year's July/August issue of Orion. I've chosen this piece as the focus of a response for my writing class, as DJD so clearly articulates many of the issues with which I've been wrestling for the past several years, issues which have bubbled up to the surface again in this first semester of grad school. Enjoy.

Insha'allah I will post again in the near future. But if I don't, know that it's because I'm frantically dog-paddling in a tsunami of end-of-the-semester research, papers, projects, readings, lesson plans, and gradings. WHOOSH, there I go! In three weeks I hope to be HOME, as in, Sioux Center, Iowa, a place I haven't seen since mid-June. But that's only if I somehow manage to survive the three weeks in the first place . . .


I must share a wonderful, quintessential Missoula moment:

Today I walked down to Bernice's Bakery to have a hot chocolate and cinnamon roll and do a little reading, and who should be there but my friend Jacob (from MESP) and his sister, and we sat and chatted for awhile, and then my friend Tim came in, so I introduced him to Jacob, since all of us know my friend Rachel (another MESPer), and it turned out that Jacob's sister knew Tim . . . Dutch bingo in Missoula! Ain't life grand. Then I walked home in the dark, invigoratingly cold evening, with snowflakes drifting down around me, glittering beneath the streetlights to create a shimmering fairy world. I love winter.

Halloween

And now, a picture from our Halloween party: me as a butterfly-fairy creature. Ethereal, aren't I? More to come . . .

Montana Gorgeousness

A few more pictures from way back over Labor Day weekend--just more Montana gorgeousness I had to share. In the top picture, Molly, me, and Christa. In the bottom picture, a view of Black Lake from above.

Time is but a river I go a fishin' in . . .

And boy is it flowing fast right now. Yeep. Can it really be November 18th? Three weeks left of classes, then one week of exams, of which I have none (woohoo!). And yet there's so much to do . . .

It's been a bit of a rough week. I had high hopes of getting a lot done, but due to some, um, emotional trauma, I ended up unable to focus on homework, so instead Teresa and I watched movies for three nights in a row. Not a particularly productive use of time, but necessary.



Despite some of the heartache, though--or perhaps through it?--God has been teaching me about forgiveness. I'd kind of forgotten about such things as forgiveness, grace, compassion. That is, I'd forgotten about them in the context of showing them to someone who hurt me. And I was reminded again this week that even when I'm not big enough or brave enough or strong enough to be gracious, to show forgiveness, that God is big enough and brave enough and strong enough in my place. And that's all I really need, isn't it? I'd forgotten what it was like to have God create that space in my heart when I wasn't capable of doing it on my own. And He did it so quickly, too--I am blessed.



I am blessed, too, by the friends I have here in Missoula. I was sitting in my writing class today, looking around at everyone, and thinking just how much I like them all. The people with whom I interact every day are wonderful and funny and kind and good; they have added a richness to my life that I haven't had in a long time. It's nice to have wonderful people nearby to complement all my friends scattered across the globe: I love you all.



Okay, when I get sappy it's definitely time to sign off. Blessings and peace to all of you, wherever you may be!

Snow!

Yes, it's snowing here in Missoula, Montana, and it's beautiful. Even if it is 5:40 p.m. and completely dark already. I woke up half an hour before my alarm this morning, and looked outside, and there was the lightest dusting on grass and trees and roofs, and I just had to be out in it, so I went for an invigorating walk. It was a lovely way to begin my day. And then I dressed up, feeling quite sexy and, of course, empowered. A good way to begin the week.


I might be going to New Orleans in January. A couple of profs from the EVST department are leading a class which focuses on environmental and social justice, and New Orleans seems to be a good place to examine both. I've signed up for the class, but I have to work out the logistics. My tuition is paid for, but I still have to get myself down there--I'm going to do my best to go, as I think it will be very worthwhile.


We have a short week this week (the first since Labor Day week!) because of Veteran's Day on Friday. Support your local veteran! Or something. It's also Teresa's birthday this weekend, so we're in the process of planning the party--or, I should say, the fiesta, since it will be Mexican-themed. Chips 'n salsa, margaritas, a piñata, strip Twister . . . oh, wait. :P We were asking for suggestions today from fellow EVSTers for fun things to do; fortunately we are under no obligation to implement any of them. Besides, we don't really have room to play Twister in our apartment. Hee.


Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!


(Okay, okay, I know it's not Christmas, but it's snowing for heaven's sake. It feels like Christmas.)

All right, all right, all right, I'm blogging!

What's a person to do when being harrassed by her sister?
I hope you're happy, Andrea!

I have half an hour before my class this evening. I hope it actually ends at 6:30 as it's supposed to, since I'm going to a play tonight at 7:30. Yay, theatre! I'm excited; I haven't been to a theatre performance since Dordt's Jubilee productions, and that's been a long time ago. The play is "Proof," a Pulitzer-prize winner about, well, math. Once I read the review I knew I had to go in honor of my dad.

I think life is simply stressful sometimes. I've been feeling overwhelmed lately--it's a constant state of being--and I'm suddenly very, very much looking forward to Christmas break. To go through a day without a list of things that need to be done! To sleep late! To read whatever and whenever I want to! I can't wait.

Today I woke up and noticed that everything seemed very frosty outside. After putting on my glasses, I realized there was snow up on the mountains, and I could see the line between snow and no snow, the line between "cold enough" and "just a tiny bit too warm" for snow. There's something so exquisite about white snow cover on brown mountains and deep-green conifers--it makes me feel as though I'm in this other, pristine, quiet world. I need to go hiking again soon.

This weekend looks to be good--we're having an EVST game night at Kylie's house--I'm going to make peanut-butter chip chocolate death cookies (I'm thinking of you, Janelley!)--and on Saturday night there's a contra dance (like square dancing but more fun, or so I'm told) to benefit Hurricane Katrina victims--and I could play touch football on Sunday morning, but I think I'll opt for church instead. Unless I go the early service . . . hmm. We'll have to see. I'm distinctly feeling the need for more exercise; if I'm not careful, I'm going to have a Wally of my own, Andrea! Would they be brothers??

All right. I hope this satisfies those of you who have been wanting me to update my blog. Please comment--I switched the settings so my blog accepts anonymous comments. Then I can get a warm fuzzy feeling knowing that all my friends are staying updated on my life. :)

Love to all!

Sacred Water

I am told I must keep up the posting, so here goes.

I admit to feeling rather stressed lately. I have not taken enough time out for prayer, meditation, reflection, and, two months into the semester, this lack is beginning to wear on me. I seem to do little besides work and study, though occasionally I'll go out for supper with friends or take a hike in the mountains or bake zucchini bread. But I am feeling the need to structure such things as exercise, prayer, and writing into my day, and that has not yet happened. The longer I live (and granted, 26 years isn't really that long), the more I realize that this is a constant struggle.

On the other hand, I've enjoyed going out to the Old Post the past couple of nights to watch games 3 and 4 of the World Series, and I'm thrilled that the White Sox won! Though I woudn't have minded six or seven games--the Astros could have put up a little more of a fight, couldn't they have? At any rate, last night I was there with several friends from my environmental writing class, and we got into an involved discussion about the definition of "environmental" writing. I realized that, while I do dream of writing a book and publishing articles in magazines, I haven't done much, yet, to focus myself in that direction. When I write, I write things I feel need to be written--but they are more for me than for any outside audience. Another challenge.

But here's some more writing, since I know I need to be sharing my efforts with others. It's an excerpt from my second essay for my writing class.


Sacred Water

The most beautiful sea in which I’ve swam is at Moon Beach, a small resort on the shores of the Red Sea in Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula. Egypt, land of desert, heat, and sun—a land that knows and cherishes every drop of water, that guards with its craggy hills and harsh desert this slim sliver of sea. No palm trees, no sage brush, no superfluous vegetation, just sun and golden sand and red-brown rocky hills, and the sea,

the sea,

of the most exquisite blue-green you can imagine, turquoise water stretching out to touch a sapphire sky, with the horizon glittering between, and a caressing breeze to bring the water’s freshness to nose and mouth and lungs.

I splashed into that clear sea, calm but for a few wind-made ripples, and swam out, out, out—and then lay, effortlessly buoyant, and let the hot afternoon sunshine and warm perfect water lull me into a state of rest and salaam. Peace.

One night I abandoned my bungalow to sleep on the beach, pulling the thick wool blanket off my bed to wrap around me as I lay on a soft-cushioned beach chair. I woke several times during the night to see the stars luminous, glowing huge in the black sky above, to hear the waves singing softly with the rolling sand, to feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. When the sun rose early the next morning, sending golden light to reflect on the dawn-smooth sea, I sat on the cool sand, blanket tucked around me, and watched as a school of tiny silver fish flashed upward, leaping above the water, glittering like tossed coins.

My last swim in that water was a glorious baptism of water and light. Both skin and soul quenched their thirst as I swam half a kilometer out into the gulf. The sun shone down, the water buoyed me up, and my body was not light as air but light as water, and I felt myself become as transparent and fluid as the aquamarine sea. And my soul hovered on the surface of the deep.

Writings: An Essay's Beginning

Wendell Berry knows the importance of place.

“If you have no land,” he writes, “you have nothing: no food, no shelter, no warmth, no freedom, no life . . . I don’t think that being landed necessarily means owning land. It does mean being connected to a home landscape . . . The land is a gift of immeasurable value.”

I have learned, in my wanderings from place to place—Iowa to Egypt, Chicago to Charlotte, Midwest to mountain west—how right he is, how, unless I am connected to the landscape, I am not connected to a place at all.

My earliest connecting place—and the one to which I somehow keep returning—is in Sioux Center, Iowa, a little town tucked away in the northwest corner of the state. My connection to this landscape consists of lying on a soccer field, feeling cool dewy grass beneath my fingertips and seeing bright stars glimmering in the dark sky above. In that simple act of touching the earth with skull, spine, calves, palms, I feel linked not only to rural Iowa but to all of creation—sky, wind, earth, breath—and to God. Strange, perhaps, that something as mundane as a soccer field could provide a path to God, could heal (without fail) my tired and bruised spirit; strange, yes, that spending fifteen minutes lying on the precisely-clipped grass will almost always calm and quiet me.

My place of quiet and calm shifted to the shores of Lake Michigan when I lived in Chicago. The vast stretch of water, shifting and shimmering from deepest blue to green to silver, reminded me of long rows of corn and soybeans, changing colors as they shivered in the wind. But I discovered a new love, sitting on the edge of the lake. My eye was constantly drawn to that line between water and sky: the horizon, luring me, causing tears to lodge in the back of my throat, inspiring profusions of words that poured onto the pages of my journal. In the horizon I discovered a physical representation of hope.

I have never owned land. But so long as I have such places, places as simple as a soccer field or a lake, a place to be silent, a place to be healed, I recognize, and am grateful for, the gift of land. And for those few moments, I am an owner. I have bought that bit of space with the weight of my body, the reverence in my soul.

Party Night!

 We did NOT plan the red, but doesn't it look cool? Me, Teresa, Peter, Jeff, Catherine (all EVSTers), Cindy (my friend from church), Ruby, Joel (another friend from church), and Jeremy (fellow TA).

Amusing anecdote from our party night: So I bought this corkscrew from a thrift store for 50 cents. Beware anything that costs so little! Anyway, the darned thing doesn't work. So we had this lovely bottle of white wine, and a dysfunctional corkscrew. Jeff attempted his hiking boot method (holding the bottle upside-down, bang on it firmly with a heavy boot until the cork comes out about three-quarters of the way, making sure to stop before it comes all the way out, unless you want wine all over your carpet)--but to no avail. (In his defense, I have seen the hiking boot method used successfully.) Then Joel brilliantly remembered that he had a hatchet in his 4Runner. Of course--why didn't anyone think of it before?? Doesn't everyone use a hatchet in lieu of a corkscrew? We all trooped downstairs, standing on the porch a safe distance from Joel, who performed his act in the middle of the front lawn. Holding the bottle with one hand, he raised the other arm and--whoosh!--sliced the hatchet through the neck. The top of the bottle shattered into the darkness beyond the small pool of light from the porch, and Joel leaped to grab the bottom half before the precious wine spilled into the grass. Approximately half the wine was left, which was good enough for us. After picking up as many shards of glass as we could find using a dim flashlight, we went back inside to enjoy our victory.

Kids, please don't try this at home!

Jeff kindly bought us another corkscrew, which is far superior to the fifty-cent one, the boot, or the hatchet.

And today Teresa got a package from her parents, and inside was another corkscrew with a note: "So you don't have to use an axe. Love, Dad and Mom."









This is the creek I cross on my way down to the trail that parallels the Clark Fork River.

it's been awhile . . .

Missoula winter cloudiness is settling in, and I'm realizing already how much I'm going to miss the sunshine. We had a glorious sunny day yesterday, so I sat out on the Oval at school and soaked up the sun rays. But today was cloudy and cold, so I came home from my office early to cuddle up with a blanket or two and my philosophy reading. Philosophy reading is not terribly cozy, but I had little choice.

Life continues busily along, filled with grading student essays, designing lesson plans, reading reading reading, writing writing writing, a little partying on the weekends, a little socializing here and there, and some darned good baking! I made challah for a party last week, zucchini bread this weekend, and a caramel-almond torte for a birthday dinner yesterday. I'm finding baking to be very therapeautic; it's a good break from all the studying, and provides me and Teresa (and other fortunate friends) with happy tastebuds.

I can't believe I'm in my seventh week of grad school already. It hardly seems possible! Where did September go? How can it be October 11th already? But I can tell we're getting later into the semester: the work load is getting heavier, though it's still manageable. I don't have much down time, however, and I'm starting to feel the lack. All this beautiful wilderness around me, and I've hardly been able to enjoy it!

Today I'm a little more on top of the homework. I have my readings done for Thursday already, so perhaps I can get started working on my philosophy paper (due the 20th) or my second essay for environmental writing (due the 24th). Getting ahead: what a concept! Or perhaps I'll just finish reading The Blue Sword, which I've read 40 times, yet I've been trying to finish it for the past three weeks. (There's telling evidence of how little free time I have!)

Blessings to you all!

Pictures!

All right, just a few more pictures here.



Here I am in my classroom, journaling away along with my students.







And here is a picture of me and my roommate, Teresa.

Visitors!

My good friends Rita and Ruby drove all the way from Iowa to visit me this weekend. What a full few days we had! This also happened to be the weekend of the Festival of the Book here in Missoula, so we took in a few readings--I especially enjoyed Rick Bass and Sandra Alcosser. We ate lots of yummy food (always a necessity when one is with friends), had a game night (testing the limits of our small living room), and took some long walks along the river trail. The days flew by, and suddenly here it is Sunday afternoon, with Rita and Ruby on their way home and me sitting here realizing I have several hours' worth of homework to accomplish. But one must keep one's priorities straight. Updating one's blog, for instance. Doing so is especially nice since Ruby has a digital camera, so I now have some new pictures to post. Enjoy!

Sniffles

My first cold of the season hit last Monday at 9:30 p.m. as I sat out on my balcony grading papers. One minute I was fine, and the next I was running for the tissues. So I've been drinking lots of tea (hmm, I think I need to run to the store for some *ahem* medicinal brandy), popping homeopathic pills, and trying to down several more glasses' worth of water than the standard eight. Next comes the Vitamin C!

On Monday afternoon (before I was attacked by the cold virus), I played a little frisbee out on the gorgeous green lawn of the university. And what a day it was! A perfect early-fall day--afternoon sunshine gleaming down, the grass green and smooth, a feisty little breeze to keep us cool, and the high slopes of Mt. Sentinel bronzed in the sunlight. The clock tower watched us, benignly marking off the minutes, and the sunlight bright in my eyes was bright in my heart, too: I felt light as air as I leaped and ran and tossed the frisbee. You know how sometimes your heart is simply buoyed up with happiness, so much that you can't contain it, and it's got to spill out of you? I felt radiant with life.



And then I got this cold. Oh, well. If that's the price I have to pay for a glorious afternoon, so be it.

Today is another exquisite day--the same breeze, same sunlight, same crisp and clear quality to the air. Why, then, am I sitting inside? Because I have my first long essay due for my environmental writing class, and while I have the required number of words, I need to conclude it, rearrange it, and tie it together a bit more. But perhaps I will have to go out and take a bike ride down on the river path, wind in my hair, sunlight on my face, rejoicing in the fact that I'm in a Montana mountain town.



And I'm an official Montanan now! I have a Montana driver's license, Montana car insurance, and lovely Montana license plates--I supported the national parks and spent a little extra for a specialty Glacier National Park plate.



Well, back to my cup of Yogi Organic Throat Comfort tea--and, of course, my essay. Look for excerpts in upcoming posts!

Continuations

Teaching has been going well! I had a very good class session on Friday. I'm finding my students to be talkative and thoughtful, and we've had some good discussions. I'm excited about their willingness to open up in class. There are a few who are very quiet and don't offer answers, but most of them will talk if I ask them a direct question. I need to figure out ways to help them feel comfortable in the class setting so that they are able to contribute to the discussions.



They'll be starting their personal essays soon. I'm having them write about what they believe, and about events in their lives that have brought them to the place they are today. I very much look forward to reading those essays.



We read "The Jabberwocky" in class on Monday, and then I (evilly) asked them to write some poetry of their own, focusing more on the sounds of the words than their meaning. Not all of them were thrilled about it, but they all wrote at least a few lines, and some of them did an excellent job, coming up with funny, crazy words and ideas. We've also been reading some David James Duncan and Wendell Berry. I love having the excuse to discuss authors I most enjoy! Hee, hee.



The weather's turned quite fallish here. It's been raining quite a bit, especially on the weekends. I don't mind this, as I'm more inclined to stay inside and do homework. Not that I've done enough yet this weekend . . . Last night I went with some friends to hear Kelly Joe Phelps play. I've heard more live music these past few months in Missoula than in my entire previous existence, and it's all been wonderful! I'm looking forward to seeing (and hearing) much more of what Missoula has to offer.



Now on to those 110 pages of philosophy reading that I've been putting off . . .

a few pictures

Besides having a great apartment, I'm surrounded by beautiful scenery. I worked for a month out at the notorious Paws Up Ranch, 35 miles outside of Missoula up the Blackfoot River valley. Note the teepee that my coworker and I labored on so diligently this summer!

Over Labor Day weekend, I went with a group of fellow Environmental Studies students (EVSTers) on a backpacking trip up to Jewel Basin, a half-hour outside of Glacier National Park. Beautiful! Let's just say that I love being here.

Pictures worth a thousand words . . .

I'm quite thrilled with Montana life, I must say. I have a gorgeous apartment (isn't the kitchen bright and homey?), a very comfortable bedroom (lots of plants!), and a great roommate.

A Pigeon Dying

I touched a bird this week. On Tuesday night, it was; I held gently to my breast a pigeon dying. We were on our way to get ice cream, a nice summery thing to do, and delightful to do in Missoula where the Big Dipper serves up generous cones of huckleberry ice cream or lemon-ginger sorbet. We were a block away, and a sudden fluttering caught Poe’s attention, and she dashed in her loping yellow-lab way to leap upon the flutterer: a pigeon dying.

He was frantic and lopsided. As soon as Poe let him go he flapped crazily upward, only to loop sideways and crash into a lilac hedge, wings still beating wildly. He staggered in uncertain circles around the lawn, a pitiable pigeon who looked as though he’d had a few too many. Jeff moved toward him slowly and wrapped him gently in his shirt, smoothing down ruffled wings and holding him steady. The shirt vibrated wildly with the pigeon’s terrified shuddering, which lessened only slightly as we ordered our ice cream and sat to eat it (and to look up numbers of animal hospitals).

No bird experts being immediately available, we headed home, and Jeff passed the poor quivering creature to me. I could feel the erratic thump of the pigeon’s heart, but the shaking had subsided, and he rested almost quietly in my grasp as I held him to the warmth of my body. I felt his fear, and wondered what had scared him so completely; or was it only his animal sense of imminent death, his instinctive resistance to annihilation?

As we walked through the September twilight beneath wide-spreading maples, his frantic struggle began again, and I tried to calm him with soft words and pigeon coos. And he became still. Too still? Yet I could feel a heartbeat—or was it only my own blood pumping into my fingertips? He remained still, still, and the weight in my hands changed, almost imperceptibly, as a pigeon spirit soared upwards toward the slender crescent moon.

An irrational fear twitched through my heart and down my arms, a deep, dark terror that broke through all the fragile securities with which I surround myself; for an infinitesimal moment I knew, in each cell and sinew, that I too would die, that this pigeon’s death was just a foreshadowing of my own future.

And then I felt his weight in my hands again, felt my heart thumping out an affirmation of life, felt the caress of the breath in my lungs, and knew, in each cell and sinew, that I was alive. The pigeon would be returned to the earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and I would continue on the side of life. I breathed deeply of the rich evening air.

Exhaustion creeps in . . .

It has been a tiring couple of weeks. Last night, hanging out with some friends, I realized that I have not had nearly enough quiet time, time in which to BE, time in which to listen to God or even sense the rhythm of my own breath, the thud of my heart. Every minute has been filled with people, tasks, reading, lesson planning--in short, activity. I need some time (insha'allah, today) NOT to be active.

Besides this need for space and solitude, all is going well. My classes are wonderfully fascinating and challenging, and even in these first two weeks are interconnecting and overlapping each other. Now if only I had time to get everything done . . .

FIRST DAY!

Well, my friends, I survived my first 50 minutes of teaching. (You can replace "teaching" with "standing in front of a warm classroom, handing out notecards with shaking hands, writing messily on the chalkboard--yes, CHALKBOARD!--and babbling rapidly about syllabus stuff to my roomful of students who were probably more nervous than I was.")

But it was fun! I admit that it was more than a little strange to have this roomful of young people waiting on ME to make all the moves, waiting for ME to tell them what to do (what right do I have to tell them? I lucked out on getting an English TA, but does that qualify me to be a TEACHER??), and asking ME questions that I'm somehow expected to answer intelligibly.

They were very quiet, and I talked too much, perhaps, and too fast, certainly. Yet that just lets me know what to work on for next time; each mistake is an opportunity to learn and to change. So by Wednesday's class I'm sure I'll have everything figured out. :P

I asked them to write down what their favorite genres/books/authors are, and also to tell me what they like to write (or if they don't like to write, why), and their best writing experience. I just finished reading through these preliminary essays, and now I'm so eager to get back to the classroom and interact with my students again. Many of them love to journal. Some enjoy writing research papers (should I be looking out for brown-nosers here?), or poetry, or personal essays. A few like to read J.R.R. Tolkien and Jane Austen! I'm amazed at how much more rounded out my students become as I read their few short paragraphs.

The adventure continues! Well, I've stepped off the cliff, and there are sure to be moments of free fall, with nothing below me but the rapidly approaching earth, but I think that much of the experience will be floating along, stretching out on the firm yet fluid wind beneath me, reveling in the wildness of these new experiences.

I also had my first Environmental Writing class today: 15 students, interested in a broad range of subjects; a class atmosphere that will encourage writing; already an excitement and inspiration to begin putting thoughts on paper!

The adventure continues!

Standing on the edge and peeking over

That's what I'm doing right now; think "The Silver Chair" by C.S. Lewis--the part at the very beginning where Jill and Eustace are standing on the high, high cliff, so high that they see clouds drifting far below--that's where I'm at. Wondering whether, when I step off the edge, I'll fall straight down and crash to the bottom, or be blown on Aslan's breath to Narnia.

I rather feel as though it'll be Aslan's breath. The past few days have been so full--orientation for my first experience as a graduate teaching assistant, preparing to teach my own English 101 class of 24 freshman. I find myself both excited and nervous, but excitement's taking the day thus far. A small, evil part of me thinks, "Ha ha! Young minds to mold and influence!" *maniacal laughter* A larger, less evil, part of me thinks, "Ah! AH!! Young minds to mold and influence!"

Meeting fellow grad students has been a relief, too, after two months of being in Missoula, eagerly anticipating this moment. I'm meeting potential friends! Yesterday I met all the other incoming environmental studies students, and to think that soon I'll be sitting next to them in classes, hanging out with them on the weekends, getting to know them on much deeper levels as we discuss, well, life, the universe, and everything--all this is thrilling.

And so it comes, this new beginning, stepping off into the unknown, waiting to be blown betwixt high clouds and deep blue sea to a new country . . .